Voyager: Who By Fire
by avi-in-the-delta-quadrant
Summary: Janeway is badly injured in the fight with the Kazon that destroys Voyager. On the Val Jean, Chakotay has some difficult decisions to make. AU of 'Caretaker'. A continuing story. J/C... eventually :)
1. Chapter 1

_All hands. Abandon ship. All hands. Abandon ship. Warning: Impact in three minutes and twenty seconds. Warning: Hull breach on decks 2, 3, 4, 7 and 11. All hands. Abandon ship…_

Red lights pulsed in the corridor as Tuvok directed Voyager's remaining crewmembers to escape pods. The constant sound of alarms and computer announcements jarred his concentration as he tried to focus as far as possible on the _mah jok_ —the Vulcan meditation that focused the mind of one approaching death. Three figures rounded the corner, running; he directed them to the open hatch. Engineering beta shift, the last team to leave the ship. They had been responsible for ejecting Voyager's warp core, marking the abrupt end of a voyage that had barely lasted a week. They looked drained, their eyes blank as their feet traced the path that every crew member hoped only to encounter during holodeck safety simulations. He wasn't even sure of their names, yet here he was sending them... to what? Yes, they might survive the immediate moment of destruction, but the escape pod was about to drift helpless into a Kazon firefight. The odds of survival were not favourable.

Refocusing on the present moment, he asked: 'Computer: scan for remaining life signs.'

The computer replied in an unhurried singsong voice that grated with the warning signals: 'Scanners are not operational at this time'. He ran through the evacuation procedure one last time in his head. All had proceeded according to plan: it stood to reason that all crew members had by now indeed left the ship.

Tuvok turned towards the airlock; as he did so, he felt Voyager lurch, the ship's trajectory shifting. But the engines were long offline… Like lightning, the deductive process stood out clear in his mind. It had to be her. Venting plasma to increase Voyager's rotational velocity, ensuring that the array would be destroyed in the impact. It was the only logical option. 'Tuvok to Janeway' he began—then another explosion shook the ship. 'Captain? Do you read me? Please respond...'

 _Hull breach imminent on Deck 1. Abandon ship._

No response. She must be on the bridge. Already running towards the Jeffries tube, Tuvok shouted into his comm badge: 'Chakotay: lock transporters onto my signal and transport all life signs directly to your sickbay in two minutes from now.' A faint crackling voice replied, 'I hear you, Tuvok. We'll do our best.' As he climbed, he methodically counted the seconds until the transport. _Fifty eight…_ Two floors to go. _Eighty seven..._

Forcing the bridge doors open, he choked on thick smoke. Coughing, he pointed his tricorder forward. Faint life signs, left. _One hundred and three…_ Where would she be? He forced himself to think… only ten seconds stood between him and the transport. Operations. _One hundred and eleven…_ A dim outline on the ground in front of him. Ripped uniform. Charred skin. _One hundred and fifteen..._ Tuvok bent down, and felt Kathryn Janeway's body fall heavily in his arms as he lifted her. He flinched as he pushed aside a wave of despair rising towards his consciousness. No. Now was not the time for feelings. A loud hiss sounded above him: air was escaping from the bridge.

'Now, Chakotay!' he shouted into his communicator; his outline shimmered as the transport began.

* * *

Entering the small room that served as the Val Jean's sickbay, Chakotay turned to Kes. 'Any change?' he asked. With a barely perceptible movement, she shook her head. Chakotay walked towards the single biobed, and looked down at its occupant. At first glance, she might have appeared to be sleeping, but a second look confirmed the stark truth: her limbs formed an oddly angular outline under the blanket, and the right side of her face was blotched with plasma burns. The bleeps of the sensors monitoring her vital signs were calmer now, marking a weak but steady pulse. Somehow, Kathryn Janeway had clung onto life, but ten days after they had beamed her aboard the Val Jean, she was still far from the waking world.

He sat down at the lab table in the corner of the room and held his head in his hands. The ship was ready for launch and today he would have to make his decision: leave Janeway on Ocampa with the surviving Voyager crew, or bring her with them on the Val Jean's voyage into the Delta Quadrant, tasked to seek any means of returning home. She was the most senior scientist of the survivors, and one of the only crew with command experience, but who knew what physical condition she would be in when she awoke? And could he force this captain to abandon most of her crew on an alien planet?

He studied her face. Which would she choose?

He remembered how only two weeks ago, as Janeway had greeted him as he beamed aboard Voyager, he had bristled at her condescending, Earth-accented tones. She was probably in her first command, he had guessed, hiding any nervousness behind an absurdly rigid hairstyle and pulling rank at every opportunity, as if during the years since he had resigned from Starfleet he might have forgotten what the four pips on her collar meant. Yes, she was another of Starfleet's finest. Janeway—wasn't there an admiral with that name?

He had followed her into the joint away mission on the Ocampa homeworld, uncomfortably realizing how quickly he fell into the old Starfleet protocols, walking behind Janeway as if tacitly acknowledging a command hierarchy, yet also impressed by the seemingly indefatigable energy with which she pushed the away team forward, certain that they would reach their goal, calmly assessing the situation as the escape tunnel collapsed around them. Perhaps he had underestimated her, he thought, feeling a wry smile curling on his lips as they transported to the array to negotiate their return to the Alpha Quadrant. She could have made a good Maquis, he had thought.

But then, things had started to go wrong. Kazon ships: first three, then five… nine… The Kazon ships had opened fire on Voyager; both ships had returned fire, but as his shields failed, he had been forced to move the Val Jean behind one of the spines of the array, watching in horror as Voyager took blast after blast. Her voice crackled over the comm link: 'Chakotay, we are evacuating to the Ocampa homeworld. Rendezvous with us there.' He saw the first shuttles and escape pods shoot into space, as Voyager begun to spin out of control.

He had set a course for Ocampa, dodging behind debris segments, then Tuvok's voice had crackled over the comm link. As much as he resented the implication that Janeway's Vulcan spy still had any business on his ship, he knew that the request must be urgent. He scanned the surroundings: they would need to make a close pass next to Voyager and lower the shields for the transport. He breathed deeply. 'Bendera: on my mark, drop shields for transport. B'Elanna, you have the con.'

Energizing the transporter, Chakotay ran to the small room behind the bridge, sensing the smell of burning before he saw Tuvok. The Vulcan was setting a dark, lifeless figure down on the bed. 'Ayala! Medical emergency!' he shouted: the Maquis raider had no doctor, but Ayala had field medical training. Grabbing the emergency medical kit from the storage compartment, he had glanced back at the figure on the bed, his heart sinking with the sudden realization that it was Voyager's captain, her uniform and face blackened by blast smoke.

The next minutes had passed in a blur: as he returned to the bridge he had seen the explosions behind him as Voyager collided with the Caretaker's array. He yanked the controls just in time, flying in the shadow of the debris field until the way to the planet was clear.

There they had found Voyager's survivors scattered across several kilometers of the planet's surface. Even Tom Paris had been lost for words as he landed the shuttlecraft which carried copies of Voyager's computer databank and as much critical technology as the engineering team had been able to load. Emptying the cargo hold, he immediately took off again in search of further survivors. That evening, they had all gathered in an Ocampa courtyard. On the planet's surface, they were just over a hundred survivors from Voyager, plus twenty-three Maquis crew. Nineteen known to have perished. Another seventeen of Voyager's crew missing, presumed dead.

The Ocampa were generous hosts, yet both crews were stranded, far from home. There was no choice but for Starfleet and Maquis to work together; during the next days Chakotay found himself becoming a reluctant leader, sitting with Tuvok, Paris and Torres in an uneasy truce as they considered their options. The Val Jean was an old ship, less than a quarter of Voyager's size, designed for short missions, not deep space work, but it was the only ship available to them that could cover long distances at warp speed. B'Elanna was working on upgrading the warp drive and shields using components salvaged from Voyager, but even at maximum velocity it would take over a hundred years to reach the Alpha quadrant. Their only hope would be to find another array, or a lucky wormhole. At least from here they could hardly be thrown much further from home, he mused, bitterly.

There was space for fewer than thirty crew aboard the Val Jean. If they were to have any chance of finding a way home, they would need the most skilled pilots, operations specialists and engineers. For two evenings, the four of them had argued over the crew lists. Chakotay reluctantly acknowledged that Paris was the strongest pilot they could hope for, and Tuvok agreed that B'Elanna was the most competent engineer. Finally, they had a list of twenty-four names, twelve from each crew. Looking up at Chakotay, Tuvok uttered the sentence that had been on all of their minds: 'And Captain Janeway will join the crew.' B'Elanna had immediately risen in protest: 'We don't even know if she's going to wake up—what is she going to do on a raider?' Paris had shaken his head slowly: she was a friend of his father, and he had felt numb when he read the medical reports. She had seemed so alive when she pulled him out of the prison colony.

Silently, Chakotay had left the room, hearing their arguing voices grow fainter as he climbed the tunnel to the surface. His ship was a welcome oasis of quiet, only two engineers working through the night. Now here he was, sitting in front of Janeway, still with no clear answer to his question. Walking back over to the bed, he placed his hand on her shoulder and sought inner guidance, but she remained responseless and his mind was stubbornly closed. He opened his eyes, to see Kes standing in front of him. 'I'm coming with her,' she said, her grey eyes looking deeply into his, an uncanny tone of certainty in her voice. Startled, he looked at her, then he understood: the spirits had spoken. Kathryn Janeway and Kes would be joining the crew of the Val Jean.


	2. Chapter 2

Lights. Above her head. In her eyes. She tried to move her arm to shield her eyes but it felt unbearably heavy. She blinked. A face, out of focus. As if from the end of a long corridor, her name: 'Kathryn?' She moved her lips in reply but no sound came out. Try again. The face moves nearer. Blonde hair and pointed ears. She had seen those grey eyes before... on a planet…

'Kes?' she whispered.

'Yes! You're awake!'

She felt Kes take her hand; her eyes darted from side to side as she anxiously scanned her surroundings.

'Where…?'

'Don't worry. You're here on the Val Jean. Tuvok found you on Voyager and Chakotay transported you over…'

Images swam into her mind. Alarm sirens. Running feet. Explosions. Kes felt Janeway grip her hand tightly. 'Voyager?' she mouthed.

Kes shook her head slowly. 'I'm sorry.'

Janeway looked away. 'How long have I been here?'

'Two weeks,' replied Kes. 'We had to keep you sedated because of the injuries…'

'Injuries?' Janeway's awareness shifted to the dull pains throbbing through her body. The fog of her mind was gradually clearing. Yes, something was not right.

'The doctor will explain… wait…' Kes walked over to the desk and pressed some buttons; a familiar holographic figure materialized next to the bed.

'Please state the nature of the medical… Ah! I see that Sleeping Beauty has awoken at last.' He pointed a tricorder at her chest and raised his eyebrows. 'Good. Your vital signs are strengthening.'

'What happened?' This time, Janeway managed to turn her head to face the doctor.

'Oh, not much,' he replied in a jaunty voice. 'Only three broken ribs, two broken vertebrae and seven other broken bones. A punctured lung, massive blood loss, a few severed tendons and plasma burns on twenty percent of your body. Good thing that B'Elanna Torres managed to transfer me over to this… frankly _primitive_ medical facility. We may be low on hyposprays but you had the combined knowledge of all the doctors in Starfleet to put you back together.' His face grew serious. 'You will be fine. But…' His voice turned serious. 'Even the best doctors have their limits. Your arm was caught directly in the blast. I'm afraid that…' He looked down. 'There was nothing left of your right hand to save.'

Instinctively, she lifted her arms, studying the fingers of her left hand before looking at the unfamiliar bandage taking the place of her right hand. She closed her eyes, her head spinning. On the rebel ship she had been sent to chase. In the Delta Quadrant. Voyager gone. Her body blasted to pieces. She had begin this mission as the able-bodied captain of a galaxy-class starship. Who was she now?

* * *

Janeway sensed a presence in the doorway of Sickbay. Chakotay. The senior officer on this ship. She instinctively moved to sit up, but black clouds floated in front of her eyes and she fell back onto her pillow, breathing deeply. Chakotay walked up to the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. 'Take it easy. You've been though a lot these past weeks. I heard you were awake, and somebody told me you might want this...' he said, placing a large cup of coffee on the medical trolley beside her.

'Thank you', she said, this time moving slowly to a sitting position. Chakotay handed her the cup, then glanced down at her bandaged arm and quickly looked away. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'Don't say it,' she replied, firing a piercing gaze straight at him. 'We know what we sign up for when we choose this life. I suppose I'm just lucky we're in the Delta Quadrant. Starfleet would have thrown me out with an honorable discharge and pension by now.'

Chakotay smiled. 'Starfleet protocols are one thing you won't have to worry about here.'

She took a long mouthful of coffee. 'So, Captain, it looks like I'm under your command. What will it be?'

Chakotay raised his hand. 'When you hailed me by the array, we agreed to work together to solve our problems. And I am a man of my word. Tuvok and I agreed that we will continue together, as a combined Starfleet and Maquis crew. But this is a Maquis ship, and we don't hold by formal command structures. Here, we're on first name terms… Kathryn.'

She looked at him, and nodded.

'I know it may be difficult for you to trust me—and frankly, that feeling is mutual—but we're going to need to work together if we're going to get back to the Alpha Quadrant,' he continued, softly. 'So I'm going to make you an offer. When you're ready, join me on the bridge. Not under my command, but jointly in command.'

She breathed deeply and looked down at her injured arm, and suddenly felt helpless. 'But…'

Chakotay looked straight into her eyes. 'Kathryn, our crew has been waiting for you. We need you for your command experience, your scientific knowledge, and your strategic insights, not for hand-to-hand combat. I'm from the Maquis, and the first thing we learn in training camp is that we don't abandon our wounded comrades. Two weeks ago, you ordered your crewman to rescue me from the tunnels on Ocampa. This time, it's my turn. We'll figure things out.' He reached for his pocket. 'Oh, and I thought you might like one of these. We borrowed them from Voyager.' He pinned a comm badge to her chest. With a faint smile, she noticed that he, too, was wearing the familiar Starfleet symbol on his Maquis clothes.

She took another mouthful of coffee, savouring the familiar taste of the warm liquid. 'Well, you seem to have made me an offer that I can't refuse,' she replied, feeling the familiar Kathryn Janeway rise to the surface as the caffeine coursed into her veins. Her voice quickly adopted a businesslike tone. 'I seem to be stuck here in Sickbay for a little while longer, so perhaps you could bring me the schematics of this ship, a complete crew manifest, star charts for the sector, a readout of the warp… Ouch…' She put her hand to her head. 'I'm sorry.'

Seeing Kathryn bite her lip in pain, Chakotay rubbed her shoulder, waiting for her to open her eyes. 'All in good time. For now, just focus on your recovery.'

She nodded, limply. She had made it to this point, but this was going to be the hardest posting of her career. She barely felt ready to hold a PADD but it seemed that an unfamiliar crew was waiting for her, and she could hardly disappoint them.

'Well, I should let you get some rest. I'll be back later.' Chakotay turned to leave.

'Chakotay?' she said. He turned back to face her.

'Thank you,' she said. 'For the coffee, and… for not abandoning my crew.'

He nodded, and left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

'It's OK, Tom, I can walk from here.'

Standing just outside the doorway to the bridge of the Val Jean, Kathryn Janeway steadied herself before moving forward. She was determined to step onto the bridge on her own two feet. A week after she had awoken, her progress was still frustratingly slow; she couldn't manage more than a few steps unaided. At least the Val Jean was a small ship. On Voyager, she would barely have made it as far as the turbolift, she thought, wryly. She had moved into crew quarters now, but had spent most of the past week back in Sickbay, the Doctor and Kes guiding her through exercises designed to teach her newly fused bones and muscles to work together.

This morning, before leaving her quarters she had stood in front of the mirror. The woman who looked back at her seemed barely to resemble the Kathryn Janeway who had left Deep Space Nine on Voyager a month ago. She felt a pang of sadness when she saw her chin-length haircut: while Kes had washed and braided her hair the previous day, she had quickly understood that styling long hair took two hands. She was going to be relying on her colleagues enough in other matters as she returned to duties: this was one luxury that she could give up. She had found a pair of scissors in a med kit and passed them to Kes.

'My hair. Please.' She bit her wavering lip.

'Are you sure?' Kes had asked.

Janeway nodded. 'It's only hair. It can grow back,' she said, trying to believe her own words. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit that Kes had done a good job. Instinctively, she held her arms behind her back, and tilted her face to the right. Yes, at this angle, the burn scars along her chin were barely visible, and her body appeared complete. She caught herself and looked straight at the mirror. Who was she trying to fool? Herself, perhaps? But this was the new reality: self-pity was not going to get her crew back to the Alpha Quadrant.

Then there was the clothing. Nothing of her own had remained from Voyager; even her Starfleet uniform had been ripped to shreds in the explosion. The Val Jean had replicators, but resources were limited, and clothes could be shared; Kes had left a selection of items in her size in her quarters. This morning, she had pulled on cargo trousers, a deep orange crossover tunic with a geometric pattern, the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of soft brown leather boots. She had to admit that they were far more comfortable than the Starfleet female uniform boots, even if they left her a couple of inches shorter. The overall effect was practical and comfortable, if far from her usual style.

The door chime had pulled her back to reality. 'Are you ready?' Tom Paris's face looked around the door. She smiled at him, and he moved to her side, supporting her weight as she stepped forward. A month ago she had only heard of Tom through Admiral Paris's stories all those years ago about his wild teenaged son. Now, she reflected, he was proving to be a thoughtful, good-humoured colleague, stepping in where he was needed, and gently encouraging her to resume her command role.

Now it was time to do just that. She took a deep breath, and stepped onto the bridge.

* * *

Chakotay glanced behind him as he heard the doors to the Val Jean's small bridge slide open; as he saw Janeway enter, he stood to greet her. 'Kathryn! Welcome to the bridge!' She looked unsteady on her feet but held her head high, her dark eyes already taking note of her surroundings, nodding to Tuvok as she passed his station. As she faltered, Chakotay jumped forward, taking her elbow firmly and guiding her to the chair that he had just vacated. Behind her, Tom Paris took up his place at the helm. 'Update, Tuvok?' asked Chakotay. 'We are cruising at warp eight, stealth status holding,' the Vulcan replied. Kathryn raised an eyebrow. She clearly had things to learn aboard this ship.

'In that case,' continued Chakotay, 'I'd like formally to record in the ship's log that Kathryn Janeway has agreed to join me as co-captain of the Val Jean, and I suggest that we begin the day with a briefing to bring her up to speed. Kathryn, I think you have met the bridge crew: B'Elanna Torres is our engineer, and Ayala takes care of operations. Tuvok sits at the communications desk, Paris is our pilot, and you and I will share the command role.' Janeway nodded at each crew member in turn, glad to see familiar faces; yes, both B'Elanna and Ayala had briefly been aboard Voyager.

Janeway tried to keep up as Chakotay summarized the current situation. The Val Jean had been travelling for ten days: leaving Ocampa, the Val Jean's twenty-six crew had set a course toward the Alpha Quadrant using the charts that Neelix, a Talaxian trader, had prepared for them before they left.

Their first challenge was to cover a vast sector controlled by warring Kazon and Trabe factions. Neelix had warned them to expect hostility; they had slipped into warp riding the slipstream of a Kazon warship, using a Maquis technique they called 'stealth'. Matching their warp signature to that of the ship they were following, and their shield harmonics to the ripples in the background radiation caused by the passing ship, they were virtually undetectable by conventional sensors. It was a risky strategy, of course: they were far closer to the Kazon ship than any Starfleet safety protocol would have allowed, and any minute change in the Kazon ship's course demanded an immediate response to avoid detection.

Until now they had successfully remained concealed, but the raider could not maintain a steady warp speed for much longer: she was designed for far shorter journeys, and the engines needed regular realignment. Assuming the Kazon to be headed for a planet seven light years away, Tuvok had identified a plasma field which would give them cover as their course diverged from the Kazon ship; according to the charts there should be several M-class planets nearby. They would have four hours to make preparations. Meanwhile, B'Elanna was concerned by a pattern of interference in the scanner field. Full scanners were not operational during stealth flight, but they would need them as soon as they drew clear.

As the crew returned to work, Kathryn found herself sucked into activity. Sitting alongside B'Elanna, she watched as the young engineeer ran spectral analyses of the interference pattern. 'Try changing the gamma spectrum,' she said, leaning over the computer, moving the control with her left hand to recalibrate the readout. She reached automatically with her other hand for the touch screen to implement the changes, then stopped, with a loud sigh: for a moment, she had forgotten. 'Here,' muttered B'Elanna as she took over, tapping the screen to Kathryn's right. 'Once we get out of the plasma storm, I'll see if I can fix the interface.'

'Found it!' said B'Elanna, as the results came up on the screen and she deftly zoomed in on a thin green line. Sets of three pulses stood apart from the background electromagnetic field. Kathryn studied the screen over B'Elanna's shoulder. Something seemed wrong. 'Wait,' she said, recognizing the pattern. 'That's not interference. It's the automated distress call from a Starfleet comm badge…'

'Ugh, Starfleet technology. The comm badge is probably offended to find itself on a Maquis ship,' said B'Elanna. 'And I checked them all for malfunctions before we handed them out. At least we should be able to use internal scanners to locate the malfunction. Computer: locate the source of the gamma frequency pulse at frequency 182.7.'

After a short pause, the computer replied: 'The source of the gamma pulse is not on board this ship.'

Kathryn's heart skipped a beat as she looked up. The interference had continued for several days: if it was not on the Val Jean it must be coming from the ship they were following. A Starfleet comm badge on a Kazon ship. It could only have come from Voyager.

[To be continued]


End file.
